Trigger Points
by Elbereth in April
Summary: Vegeta tells Trunks that he killed his own mother.


Trigger Points  
  
By Elbereth in April, copyright 2002. I do not own DBZ.  
  
Note: This is a work in progress. I'm not satisfied with it yet, so I'm taking suggestions and reposting.  
  
(Point of View: Mirai Trunks. He is living with the Vegeta-Briefs family at this time, in this version of the DBZ universe.)  
  
  
  
One night, when Mother was away showing new baby Trunks off to her grandparents, I walked by her and Father's room late at night and heard someone weeping. My mind went into shock. 'That can't be my father!' I thought. But I could hear it was.  
  
'He won't thank you for going in there.' I stopped myself with my hand reaching for the door. But he sounded so heart-broken I couldn't help it. I went in.  
  
He was sitting on the floor, half-wrapped in a tangled sheet. It looked like he had thrashed around in his sleep and fallen out of bed. He had his face buried in his arms, leaning against the bed. He looked up when I entered. I fully expected him to hurl insults and curses at me, and demand that I leave him alone. The fact that he didn't scared me. Had I ever seen my father cry? My gut twisted.  
  
I sat down beside him, not sure what to do. By then he had started pulling all emotions back in. He'd somehow stopped himself from crying, and wiped his face off, and was starting to adopt that distant, neutral expression.  
  
'Too late!' I thought. 'You can't fool me that way tonight. Maybe never again.'  
  
"It's all right, brat," he said finally, his voice still thick and strange- sounding. "I had a dream, that's all. Go to bed."  
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
"Of course!" But it was half-hearted.  
  
"What did you dream about?" I was implacable. He knew I wouldn't leave without an answer. And he still didn't tell me to mind my own business, or that I should remember my place, or-or anything. My heart hurt for him. When was the last time I felt-sympathy-for my father?  
  
He was silent for a long time, and then, very low, he said, "I dreamed about my mother."  
  
Tangerine. I didn't see that coming.  
  
He was staring at the wall, and his breathing was uneven. His fists were clenching and unclenching on the blanket. I wanted to tell him he could tell me anything, but I couldn't. I could only sit there, and try to project support.  
  
But it must have been more than even he could handle without overload, because he kept talking, as if he needed to.  
  
"I've dreamed about her before-but I just heard her voice. This was the first time-I saw her."  
  
He had the strangest half-smirk I'd ever seen on his face. As if he was looking down not on the world but on himself, with the bitterest kind of self-hate I'd ever imagined.  
  
His words trailed off. He was shaking, I realized, now that my eyes were adjusting to the dark. "And?"  
  
"She-she'd watched Bulma have Trunks. And she said, 'Well, at least you didn't kill her.'"  
  
I stared at him. "What?"  
  
"In my other dreams-I used to hear her." He was looking in my eyes with a desperate sense of honesty-as if he wanted me to know exactly how vile he was. "She'd say-when I first became Frieza's hostage, she'd say, 'How can you blame your father for giving you away? Of course he hates you for killing me!'"  
  
My breath caught in my throat. I could feel my eyes widen. I wanted to stop him, but I knew he wouldn't hear me. Why had Father killed his own mother? What kind of villain was he? Well, I knew he'd killed hundreds, probably thousands of people. But murdering your own mother was different.  
  
"And later-later she'd say, 'Is it any wonder Frieza uses you this way? Of course you're good at purging planets! You were born a killer!'" The pain in his voice hurt just to listen to.  
  
But... "Why did you kill her?"  
  
His eyes were shimmering with tears that, this time, were refusing to fall. He had to swallow a couple of times before he could answer. "Something about-she reacted to my blood somehow."  
  
His earlier sentence came back to me. "You mean...she died giving birth to you?"  
  
His voice was raw, anguished. "Yes! I killed her! How many times do you want me to say it?"  
  
A lot of his behavior towards Bulma as she was giving birth, and even when she announced she was pregnant, made sense now. "You were afraid your kid might do something to kill Bulma, too?"  
  
He nodded.  
  
Tangerine. How had that twisted in his mind, over the years? Of course you purge planets. You were born a killer.  
  
What did I say to that?  
  
"It wasn't your fault, Father." It came out sounding stilted. I knew he would be unconvinced. He'd believed it too many years.  
  
I reached over and hugged him, and when he didn't push away, I knew how badly he must be hurting. I started to cry, too, for him, hoping he wouldn't despise me for it. But I couldn't help it.  
  
"It wasn't your fault. You didn't mean to. You didn't even ask to be born. And you certainly can't help the kind of blood you have."  
  
But he was shaking his head. "I failed her. I failed my mother, and my father. And my planet, and my people, by letting Frieza destroy them."  
  
Did he feel like this all the time? I knew he'd never admitted it before if so, and probably never would again.  
  
"A born killer. Hn. I couldn't kill Frieza. I can only kill what's beautiful and good ..."  
  
"I'm alive. And, and baby Trunks. You made us."  
  
"Bulma made you."  
  
That was almost funny. "I think you helped."  
  
He didn't see the humor. I patted him on the back, searching for something else to say. "Father..." Did I dare say it? "Father...I still think you're perfect."  
  
His eyes widened and he just looked at me. "I find it hard to believe Bulma raised you to think that."  
  
That was funny, too. "I figured it out partly on my own and partly with her help."  
  
"I think you were hit in the head one too many times."  
  
"You'd know. You've hit me often enough."  
  
He leaned his head back and rested it on the bed, staring at the ceiling. I wiped my eyes. When the silence was starting to get awkward, he shook his head, then swore. "I can't believe I cried." He looked at me. "You of course know that if you reveal any of this."  
  
I gave him one of his own half-smirks. "I know. I have no intention of saying a word. And by the way, I can't believe you cried, either." I couldn't believe my own daring, for that matter.  
  
He looked defensively at me. "It was only the third time in my life."  
  
I tilted my head to one side. "You know, it's interesting. I saw it. . . and it didn't make me think you were weak at all."  
  
He scowled, opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again. "Emotions are weak."  
  
I shrugged. "Everybody has their trigger points."  
  
We looked at each other in silent, shared understanding, each remembering times in our life that were raw, open wounds even now.  
  
I looked at my hands. "I failed a lot of people, too, if you want to look at it that way." So many friends dead of the androids. And me, so helpless to prevent it because I just wasn't strong enough. Father. Gohan. Dead. My fault.  
  
And their own, and the androids, and everybody else's who didn't stop them either. If you want to look at it that way. I sighed. It was confusing, especially when you were alone and in the dark.  
  
I looked at Father again. "Isn't self-blame an emotion?"  
  
He scowled. "Failure isn't an emotion."  
  
"Hating yourself for it is."  
  
A pause. "You're too analytical. Too smart for your own good. That comes from Bulma, too."  
  
"Well, I will give you that one."  
  
Then we were quiet for awhile, but it was a more comfortable quiet this time.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Author Note: OK, you may think it's out of character for Vegeta to cry, but I just wanted him to! I like this idea of his mother's death, I'm going to use it again. So should I keep going with this? 


End file.
